


Mandated Relaxation

by Sizzle_It_Up_With_Punka



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Found Family, Multi, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Tenderness, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Barclay, Trans Male Character, extremely intimate approaches to workplace break rules, now there's a tag for you, porn with some plot (as a treat), sex in Bigfoot form, we're here we're Queer we all want Bigfoot to take better care of himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sizzle_It_Up_With_Punka/pseuds/Sizzle_It_Up_With_Punka
Summary: Barclay's been running himself ragged getting ready for a big family event. Mama and Stern decide there's one way to make sure their Bigfoot takes some time to unwind.
Relationships: Mama/Barclay/Agent Stern
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Mandated Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this fic features a trans male character being penetrated vaginally. "Dick", "cock", and "hole" are used to refer to trans male genitalia.

“Damn it.” Barclay narrows his eyes at the thermometer in his hand and runs a palm over his beard, feeling grumpy. The temperature of the smoker’s been fluctuating all morning — not by very much, not enough to really be a problem, just a tiny bit. Enough for Barclay to be puzzled and distracted by it. 

He fiddles with a couple of things, checks the controls and reaffirms for himself that the brisket’s at the right internal temperature. It’s fine, and he crosses his arms and frowns at the appliance for a minute as if that’s going to solve his smoker puzzle. 

It’s been one of those days. Things that wouldn’t typically be an issue are getting under his skin, he’s tense and snappish and easily distracted, and his mind is buzzing with a million different tasks he still needs to get to before the end of the day. Barclay hates that he’s like this, he’d like to just cool it a little, but wanting that and being able to accomplish that are . . . well. 

Barclay rolls his shoulders, shoves the smoker puzzle out of the forefront of his mind for the time being, and turns to go back inside. This recipe calls for a long, slow smoke that will run through tonight and into tomorrow, so he’s got time to figure out what’s going on. He’ll check in on it later, in between dicing potatoes and kneading bread and gathering greens and– 

_And, and, and._ Barclay sucks in a deep breath as he pushes into the kitchen. He’s being ridiculous, he knows. Sure, tomorrow is a holiday and the dinner’s a more elaborate one than the everyday fare he makes for the Lodge. But no single thing he has to do to prepare is big enough to be too much. It’s just a lot of little things. He can handle a lot of little things. 

He shakes himself like a dog stepping out of the water, trying to get rid of his sour mood, and then crosses to the sink and washes his hands briskly. Might as well just pick one thing and get started, he supposes. Potatoes don’t wash and peel themselves. 

On Sylvain the Summer’s Flood Festival is a major holiday. People crowd into their extended family’s homes, share a big meal, deck the buildings with streamers and the streets with banners. It’s one of the only holidays from their homeworld that the exiles at the Lodge have held onto from the beginning, although at Amnesty it’s a quieter affair. They mark it with a big dinner and a bonfire, taking the opportunity to celebrate the bonds that connect them. Over time it’s come to include the human members of their circle, too, at least those that are still there. Thacker crossed over from Sylvain a couple of days ago to share it with them, his first time back for it since he disappeared. Aubrey and Dani sent their love, but Barclay can’t say he’s surprised that they didn’t join Thacker. He imagines Aubrey’s probably got some kind of ceremonial duty to perform, what with being a god and all. 

He grins crookedly as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn potato. Hard to picture Aubrey Little making it through a ceremonial occasion without turning it on its ear. Barclay earnestly hopes that she does just that. Sylvain needs shaking up, the healthy kind that someone like Aubrey has the knack for providing. Hell, if she shakes it up enough maybe . . . 

Nah. He shakes that thought off, suddenly no longer smiling, and tosses another potato into the pile he’s scrubbed clean. Man, what is with his mind insisting on snarling itself up these last few days?

Barclay finishes scrubbing the potatoes and pulls out a kitchen chair. Next step is to sit down and get to peeling, he supposes. Before he makes it that far, though, Mama shoulders open the door and stands in the doorway with her arms folded, watching him. 

Barclay cocks an eyebrow at her as he withdraws a paring knife from the block and tests its sharpness with his thumb. “Need something?”

“Sure do.” She raises an eyebrow at him coolly, looking over the state of the kitchen. Barclay grimaces. He knows it’s not as tidy as he usually keeps it; he keeps getting disgruntled and distracted when he’s halfway through a task, dropping it and hopping to the next without picking up behind himself. “Need to talk to you.” 

“Talk away.” Barclay hooks his ankle around the leg of the chair and pulls it over, drops into it and starts peeling. 

“When’s the last time you took a break?” Mama asks bluntly, stepping into the kitchen and up close to Barclay’s seat. She doesn’t exactly loom over him even with him seated and her standing, but she does her best.

Barclay makes a noncommittal noise. “Don’t know what you mean.” 

“The hell you don’t.” Mama levels a finger at him and narrows her eyes. “I’ve been watchin’ you for three days, Barclay. You haven’t been in the springs and you didn’t eat supper last night.” 

Shit. Busted. Barclay grunts, drops a peeled potato onto the tabletop and picks up a new one. “Maybe I went for a soak while you were asleep.” 

“Maybe you’re a shit liar and you always have been.” She retorts. “You been burning the candle at both ends all week. If you’re not in the kitchen you’re chopping wood for the bonfire, and if you’re not doin’ that you’re out foraging. You’re running yourself ragged.”

“I’ve just had a lot to do,” Barclay says, intentionally not looking at her because she’s right, he’s a shit liar. Maybe not Duck Newton caliber bad, but when it comes to lying to Mama? He never did have the knack for that. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“It’s a big deal when you’re actin’ like a grouch because you ain’t slept or ate proper.” Mama’s still pointing at him. “Which you were at breakfast, by the way.” 

Barclay winces. Maybe Jake didn’t deserve to be chided _quite_ so much for eating a whole rasher of bacon by himself. “Yeah. I know. Sorry about that.”

Her expression softens just a tiny bit. “Sorry’s well and good, but it’s not taking care of yourself.”

“ . . . yeah, okay, fair.” Barclay sighs and rolls his shoulder, trying to work out a tight spot in the muscle. “I’ll take a soak after I do this, okay?” 

“Mmmmm, nope. Not good enough.” Mama folds her arms and regards him sternly. He knows what she’s gonna say before she says it. “Potatoes’ll wait, Barclay, and I know how you get. You’ll get that done and then it’ll be one more thing and so on until it’s midnight and you still haven’t got to taking that break.”

Barclay thinks about arguing the point as he draws the blade of the knife through the potato, skillfully taking off just the peel and leaving the flesh. She’s not wrong, is the thing. That _is_ how he gets sometimes, and she knows it because it’s how _she_ gets sometimes, too, and god knows he’s called her out on it enough times that he has zero moral high ground in this particular conversation. 

She takes his silence for what it is, halfway to a surrender, and pushes the point. “I don’t wanna have to point out that I _am_ your boss.” 

Barclay snorts and sets potato and knife aside. “Bullshit. You love pointing out that you’re my boss.” 

Mama smirks. “And as your boss . . . “

“Yeah, I get it, I’m going.” Barclay sighs and pushes himself to his feet, reaches for the potatoes to put them away, but Mama waves both hands at him and makes a chiding noise.

“Nope. I’ll deal with those. You get your ass in the spring.” 

Barclay sticks his tongue out at her, which makes him feel definitely more adult about having been bossed out of his own kitchen, but he retreats through the halls of the lodge to the back boardwalk that leads out to the springs. 

There’s nobody around at this time of day, so he doesn’t bother with retrieving a bathing suit from his room, just shucks out of his clothes behind the wooden privacy fence and folds them, setting them up on a bench out of reach of the water and grabbing a towel from the rack to wrap around his waist. 

It’s a balmy summer afternoon, though the old growth trees that surround the Lodge keep the springs pleasantly shadowed and make the heat of the water inviting rather than stifling. Barclay drops the towel and slides into the water almost silently, sucking in a deep lungful of air and sinking down until he’s sitting on the bottom, surrounded by the warm currents. When the pressure on his chest prompts him to breathe he surfaces, shakes his head to send water droplets flying in all directions. It feels good.

Barclay takes a deep breath of faintly sulfur-scented steam and paddles over to the edge of the pool, settling into a comfortable spot. He puts his head back and takes the opportunity to stretch out and put his thoughts in order. Lists of things he still needs to prep, times and temps for cooking tomorrow. Other things, too. Things around the Lodge that need repaired or maintained, items that need added to his next grocery order. Lately it feels like his head has more lists in it than anything else. 

The spring . . . actually does help. He can feel some of the stress leaching away out of his back and shoulders, eased by the heat. The faint tingle of Earth energy sinking through his skin and filling his system is more pronounced than it usually is, and he feels like he’s taking it in more greedily than he typically does. Maybe he really was more drained than he realized. 

Barclay lets himself drift for a while, savoring the feeling of the water, warm and safe and nourishing. He’s just going through the list of things to get from the hardware store next time he’s in town when the back door opens and Joseph steps out onto the boardwalk, Mama right behind him. 

Barclay watches the two of them and, when it’s clear they’re headed his way, he hoists himself out of the water and reaches for his towel, slinging it around his waist. “Everything all right?”

Mama shoots Joseph a significant glance and then steps closer, folding her arms and leveling a stern expression at Barclay. “We’ve got a bone to pick with you.” 

Barclay hopes he’s not actually grimacing, even if internally he kind of feels like it. “Uh. Okay?” He runs a hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have worked their way loose from his bun out of his face. “What’s up?” 

Mama points a single finger at him, the same gesture she used to boss him into taking a break to get into the springs. Her expression’s not as severe this time, though. “You’re on thin ice.” 

Joseph nods solemnly. “We’re very concerned, Barclay.” 

“Okay?” Barclay frowns slightly as Mama takes a step closer, well into the range of personal space. “What’d I do now?” 

“You’ve been treatin’ our favorite person like an ass the last couple days,” Mama says, tapping his chest with that finger. “Frankly ain’t gonna fly with the two of us anymore.” 

It takes a second, but the penny drops. “Wait a second.” Barclay glances between the two of them. Mama’s eyes are crinkled at the corners; Joseph’s biting down hard on a sly smile. “Are you two coming on to me? Is that what this is?”

Joseph snorts with amusement and the smile cracks loose as he looks to Mama. “That took longer than I thought it would.” 

“Mmm.” Mama traces a little circle on Barclay’s chest with that extended fingertip. “Well, he’s been so damned stressed lately I’m not surprised.” She leans into Barclay with a grin. “We’re thinkin’ we can help with that, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Barclay can feel a smirk that matches hers growing on his own face. “You’re just really determined to make sure we don’t eat tomorrow, huh?” he says lightly.

Mama barks out a laugh. “God, you’re a smartass.” She steps around him and slips her hands around his chest from behind, pulls him close and presses a kiss against his shoulder blade. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she says, her tone changed now, voice gone low and sweet and warm as the waters of the springs. “It ain’t gonna kill you to let us take care of you for a bit, is it?” 

Barclay feels himself soften into the embrace. He can’t help it, he’s always been a sucker for her getting soft and sweet on him. Joseph’s watching the two of them with a charmed expression, and Mama cranes her neck around Barclay’s shoulder and grins.

“Well, Agent Stern,” she says teasingly, “What’re you waiting for, get your ass over here and help me convince him.” 

Joseph laughs and closes the distance between himself and Barclay, wraps his arms around Barclay from the other direction so he’s caught in a circle of an embrace, warmed from both sides. Joseph leans up and kisses Barclay’s jaw, the tender spot that he _knows_ makes Barclay weak in the knees. 

“You’ve been working hard for days without a break,” he says. “The world won’t fall apart if you’re not managing it for an hour.” 

“Or two,” Mama adds, sliding a hand temptingly over Barclay’s side and splaying her fingers against his belly. 

Barclay sucks in a deep breath and drops his head down, nosing into Joseph’s hair and breathing in the smell of the mousse he uses to keep it from being a flyaway mess. 

“Do I really have a choice about this?”

“Nope,” Mama says smugly at the exact same time that Joseph says “Of course.” 

He can't help the laugh that rumbles up in his chest. God, if that's not the two of them in a nutshell. He's got a lot to do, lists on lists, but it’s a tempting offer and he’d be an idiot to pass it up. _Maybe_ he can spare a little time.

“Okay,” he says, “You win.” 

He can feel the smug edge of Mama’s grin against the skin of his back. No doubt she’s biting her tongue on an _I told you so_ for Joseph. And yeah, maybe Barclay’s always been a little too easy to push when she shoves, but everyone’s allowed a few soft spots, right?

Joseph kisses him again. His lips are warm and just slightly chapped, and Barclay reaches out and cups the side of his jaw in his free hand. He can feel Joseph smile into the kiss. 

“Let’s go inside,” Joseph says when he pulls away, reaching up to lace his fingers into Barclay’s.

He lets the two of them lead him away from the hot springs and through the back door into the Lodge. His room’s not far from there and nobody’s in the corridors, a fact for which he’s grateful. Not that most of the residents at the Lodge haven’t seen him in a towel before, but in a towel being led by both his fully-dressed paramours who obviously have _plans_? That’s the kind of thing he’ll literally never get to hear the end of. 

Joseph leans up to kiss him again while Mama locks the door of Barclay’s room behind them, and Barclay leans into it, wrapping one arm around Joseph’s shoulders and slipping his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Mama makes an appreciative noise and slots herself up against Barclay’s back, reaching up to tug the hair tie holding his bun loose so his still-damp hair tumbles down over his shoulders. Then she rests her hands on his hips and tugs at the hem of the towel. 

“Ain’t gonna have much use for this, I don’t think,” she says, and Barclay grunts and lets go of it, lets her pull it away and toss it into the corner of the room. He’ll have to make sure that gets picked up later, he thinks momentarily, and then he lets himself forget about the towel in favor of being warm and naked and kissed by two extremely attractive people who he’s stupid in love with. 

Mama smooths her hands across his back and down to his hips, then up again in long, soothing sweeps, chasing them with her lips. Joseph finally pulls out of the kiss and trails his fingers down Barclay’s arm to the wrist where he wears his bracelet. “On or off, love?” Joseph says, running just his thumb along the well-worn hemp.

Barclay huffs out a breath. He’s gotten laid in both his forms often enough — hell, he’s gotten laid by _these two people_ in both forms often enough. The thought of going without the glamour shouldn’t still have the power to set off that tiny firecracker-pop of worry in his chest.

But it does, and he lets it pop and fizzle for half a second before he says, “Off.” They’d never hurt him, either one of them. Not on purpose, at least, and definitely not for just being what he is.

Joseph nods and lifts Barclay’s hand to his lips, pressing kisses along the palm and the inside of Barclay’s wrist at the same time Mama kisses the spot right between his shoulder blades. Then she takes a half-step back, and Joseph’s clever fingers work on the knot for just a second before the bracelet comes loose and falls away.

There is absolutely no other feeling in the world like the feeling of the glamour lifting. It’s something almost like taking a deep breath after having your head underwater, or like the bone-deep satisfaction of a really good stretch. Barclay can’t really explain it. It’s not that the smaller shape isn’t really him, or that the bigger one is, exactly; it’s just that he feels . . . _more_ when he’s not wearing the glamour. Like he takes up more space metaphorically as well as physically. 

Barclay rolls his shoulders, takes a moment to relish the feeling of them at these proportions. Joseph, as always, is grinning like he just unwrapped the world’s best birthday present, and he leans forward and pulls Barclay into a warm, tight hug, nuzzling into the fur of his chest. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, carding his fingers along Barclay’s back. 

Barclay laughs and wraps his arms around Joseph in return. Someday maybe he’ll get tired of the way Joseph _greets_ him whenever he switches shape, like he’s come back from another room instead of just shifting his appearance. Or maybe someday Joseph will be used enough to the change he’ll drop out of the habit. Barclay hopes not, though. “Hey, yourself.” 

Mama reaches up and takes hold of his shoulder, guides him backwards a few steps until he feels the back of his knees hit the seat of the desk chair, and then she pushes him gently down into it until he’s sitting. Joseph comes with him, only letting go once Barclay’s half-seated, and even then he takes hold of Barclay’s hands and holds them, looking down at him with an expression that’s tender and warm and maybe, just maybe, a little bit hungry. 

Mama drapes herself over Barclay’s shoulders and rubs her cheek against his own furry one. “Now,” she says sweetly, “We figure we’ve got a pretty good plan for that relaxation we talked about.”

She straightens up behind him and puts her hands on his shoulders, pressing into the muscle with her thumbs. Barclay groans as her touch meets resistance from muscles that, despite the time in the hot springs, are still tense and full of the week’s cargo of stress. 

“Goddamn, honey, you’re like stone back here.” Mama’s tone is chiding, and she increases the pressure of her touch. “Joe, you think we can come up with some way to loosen this boy up a little bit?” 

Joseph grins, warm and sly and brilliant, and raises a hand to his chin, tapping two fingers against his cheek. “Mmmm. I imagine if you give me a moment, Madeline, I can come up with something.” 

Barclay laughs, though it’s a little cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Mama’s fingers find a bad knot and send a little shock of pain zinging down his spine. “Never shoulda let you two get friendly, I knew you’d use it to gang up on me.” 

Joseph’s expression gets a wicked edge to it. “Maybe you should wait until tomorrow to complain about that,” he says lightly, rolling up his sleeves. “See if it’s still a problem.” 

Whatever smartassed thing he was going to say drops right out of his brain when Joseph goes down on his knees in front of him, looking Barclay straight in the eyes as he does. He rests his hands on Barclay’s knees and makes a thoughtful noise.

“Now then.” Joseph strokes his thumbs along the fur beneath them. “Madeline, be a dear and let me know if this does the trick, will you?” 

“You bet, Joe.” Mama’s smirking, Barclay can tell from her voice. “Anything for a friend.” 

Joseph hasn’t taken his eyes off Barclay’s, and he keeps the eye contact as he gently pushes Barclay’s knees apart and slides forward until he’s kneeling between them. Barclay swallows, his throat suddenly dry, as Joseph leans forward and rubs his cheek along his inner thigh, inhaling deeply. Mama’s fingers are working their way across his shoulders and neck, jabbing into the knots, chasing the tension like a bloodhound running down a rabbit. 

Joseph’s breath is hot and his eyes are _so_ green, his thumbs rubbing little circles into the fur on Barclay’s inner thighs. Barclay's clothes have been lying in a folded pile by the springs for almost an hour but now he feels _naked._

"You're beautiful," Joseph says, sliding his hands forward and stroking his fingers over Barclay's folds and his cock. He's wet already, probably has been since they cornered him by the springs if he's being honest with himself.

Barclay's breath catches and he drops his head back, finds Mama there behind him. She smiles down at him and drops a kiss on his temple, still kneading his shoulders.

Joseph's lips are soft, the touch burning and gentle as he takes Barclay into his mouth and swirls his tongue around his dick. Barclay shudders at the feeling, the liquid heat that gathers in his groin and radiates outwards and catches up against the edge of the warm, rolling pressure of Mama's hands on his back. 

Joseph takes his time, tongue and lips and fingers working in tandem, seeking out all the places he knows make Barclay shudder and gasp. Barclay reaches out and threads his fingers into Joseph’s hair, cradling his head between his palms like a precious thing. 

“ _Christ_ , Joseph,” he says breathlessly, “Like that, fuck, don’t stop– ” 

Mama chuckles warmly and bends down to plant a row of kisses across the top of his shoulder and the side of his neck. “I don’t think he’s planning on it, honey.” 

Joseph makes a noise against Barclay’s body that’s definitely agreement, and he draws his tongue over him in a long, slow, languid movement that makes Barclay momentarily forget how to think. He tightens his fingers, tugs on Joseph’s hair like he knows he likes, and is rewarded by a cut-off moan as Joseph picks up his pace, leaning into it like this is all he wants to do with his life. Mama runs her thumbs up the furrow of muscle along his spine, pure steady pressure that makes a perfect counterpoint to the driving force of Joseph’s mouth on his cock. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ – ” The orgasm hits him like a thunderclap, pure electric pleasure that shoots up his spine and out through his limbs, sizzles through his body and leaves him breathless and shaky. He yanks his hands away from Joseph’s hair, not wanting to risk hurting him, digs his fingertips into his own thighs instead where he knows the skin’s tough enough for his claws not to break through. 

Joseph keeps his mouth working against him until Barclay relaxes, panting, and then he sits back on his heels with a smug expression, licking his lips like a cat who’s been into the cream. 

“Christ, I love doing that,” he says, raking his fingers through his now dishevelled hair. “Madeline, what do you think? Feedback?” 

Mama laughs and drapes herself over Barclay’s trembling shoulders again, nipping at his ear. “Sure looked like it did him some good from up here, Joe.”

“Didn’t do me any harm,” Barclay says with a breathless kind of laugh, reaching out to cup Joseph’s cheek in his hand. “Thank you, love.” 

“Mmm.” Joseph leans into the touch, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “Of course, if Madeline doesn’t think you’re _relaxed_ enough yet . . .”

“Oh, he’s definitely not.” Mama kneads at Barclay’s bicep, cheek nuzzled against his neck. “He’s gonna need a full body workup.” 

Barclay hums and closes his eyes. “I do still have things to do this afternoon, you know.” 

“Things?” Mama says teasingly, sliding her hand across his chest, “Or people?”

“Christ.” Her fingers find one of his nipples beneath the coat of fur and tweak it with a perfectly measured gesture. “You don’t quit, huh?”

“That’s why I’m the boss around here,” she says, straightening as Joseph gets to his feet and sheds his shirt completely. “C’mon, big guy, facedown on the bed. Let Joe work on you a little.” 

“I thought that’s what I just did,” Joseph replies brightly, shedding his khakis, and Mama throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re both ridiculous,” Barclay says, but he does as he’s told, stretching out with his head pillowed in his folded arms. 

Barclay feels the mattress dip as Joseph climbs up and kneels at the head of the bed in front of him, bending over him. In any other situation he thinks that it might be frightening, being facedown in the mattress with someone’s body looming right over his head and shoulders like that, but not here. This feels warm and intimate and absolutely safe, even before Joseph’s hands settle on him and begin to knead gently at the corded muscles along his shoulders. 

The touch is different than Mama’s, soothing where hers was searching, not less firm but somehow less demanding, easing the tension out instead of scaring it away. Barclay groans when the heel of Joseph’s palm finds a spot that Mama’s fingers left tender, and the other man stops long enough to bend over and kiss the place before he resumes what he’s doing.

Barclay hears Mama moving around in the room while Joseph works on him, the sound of clothes rustling and falling to the floor, a drawer opening and shutting. He tracks what she’s doing without consciously deciding to do it, just that used to being aware of her, and it doesn’t surprise him when she joins them on the bed and her hands come to rest at the small of his back. 

"You're so goddamned beautiful when you come, sweetheart," she says with a low heated murmur, drawing her blunt nails lightly over the skin beneath his fur, raising little shivers as she does. “Never gonna get sick of watchin’ you go all to pieces like that.” 

Barclay tries to summon some kind of comeback for that, but Joseph’s still working at the muscles along his spine in long, firm passes and the feeling catches and combines itself with the feeling of Mama’s nails tracing little furrows in his fur, and he ends up just mumbling something even he can’t make heads nor tails of into his folded arms. 

She laughs quietly, draws her hands down over the curve of his ass and the backs of his thighs, still scratching lightly. ”I love it when you get all soft after, too. All warm and _pliant_ for me.” Her voice gets wicked as she slides one hand down between his thighs and finds his cock, strokes it just barely with the tips of her fingers. “‘Course maybe _soft_ ain’t the right word, hm?”

Barclay shudders, still sensitive from the aftermath of Joseph’s mouth on him, and he almost pushes himself up on his arms except that the pressure of Joseph’s hands against his back keeps him down. 

Mama moves her fingers in slow, teasing little circles. “Boy, you sure needed this, didn’t ya? Just came all over Joe’s chin and you’re still ready for another go-round.” 

Barclay groans as she presses down _just so_. Fuck, she’s good at that. "I mean I'm not going to say no."

"Yeah," she continues, moving her fingers at a practiced tempo now, sparking up the pleasure that only just subsided from the blowjob, and he bucks his hips and ruts down against her hand as she talks. "You poor thing. Been walking around for days needing someone to fuck you, that about right?"

"Something like — ah, _fuck_ – " he's already close again, he's so fucking close it's just _right there_ on the edge of his reach . . .

Mama's got an edge in her voice, something as protective as it is ferocious. "Look at him, Joe, don't he look desperate?"

" _Yeah_ ," Joseph's voice is husky, his hands gone still against Barclay's back, just holding him. "You were right, he needs it bad."

"Sure does." Mama leans down and bites the tip of his ear, the spot she knows it's most sensitive. "Don't worry, baby, we're gonna take _good_ care of you."

That's what sends the climax ripping through him, seizing his lungs and his limbs. "There you go, honey," Mama says, so soft and so sweet as he comes all over her fingers, "There you go."

She rubs against him until the orgasm ebbs, until the sensation gets to be too much and he pulls his hips away with a hiss. Then she moves her hand away from his dick, stroking through the fur on his thigh instead while he catches his breath.

"Jesus." Joseph breathes the word like it's a prayer, and Barclay huffs out a laugh.

"Can I get up now?" he mumbles into his folded arms. There's a brief but very significant pause before Mama _tsks_ at him.

"Now, I don't know about that," she says lightly, dragging her fingernails along his hip. "Joe?"

"Be a bit of a waste of preparation if you did, love," Joseph says sweetly, fingers once again massaging along Barclay's spine.

"Preparation?" Barclay thinks about raising his head and narrowing his eyes at the two of them, but Mama beats him to it.

She moves her body forward and slides her hand under his belly, tugging until he shifts his hips. He can feel the length of her strap-on rub up against his ass, and he sure didn't hear enough commotion a minute ago for her to have stepped into the harness.

"Holy shit, were you wearing that under your clothes?" He's still buzzy and lightheaded from the orgasm but that thought makes his insides feel like someone's grabbed them in a fist and _squeezed_.

“Just the harness.” Mama laughs and rubs it against him again. "I like to be prepared, baby, you know that."

"What if I hadn't said yes to this whole plan?" _Like a goddamned fucking idiot_ , he doesn't add.

Joseph sounds like he's smirking as he runs his hands up Barclay's back and presses his fingertips gently into the muscles of his neck. "I imagine we would've thought of some use for it."

"We're real resourceful folks that way," Mama says with that shit-eating-grin tone of voice. Her hands move away and he hears the snap of her pulling a glove on, the sound of a bottle uncapping. 

"Besides," her fingers come back coated in slickness and press far too gently again his asshole, "I knew you'd say yes. Known you too long not to recognize it when you're damn near desperate to be fucked into the mattress."

Barclay jumps as the words send lust jolting right through him, holy _fuck,_ he just came twice in rapid succession and should _not_ be this easily goaded by a little dirty talk, but she just has that kind of effect on him and always has. Joseph's fingers rubbing the tips of Barclay's ears in slow, languid circles doesn't fucking hurt, either. 

"So," he manages, wriggling his hips under her free hand while she goes through the torturously slow movements of working a single finger into him, "Are you gonna do that, or what?"

"I'm gettin' there." She doesn't rise to the bait, just keeps going at a pace that could damn near be called glacial. "Just getting you good and opened up for me first. Gonna make sure you're _real_ ready to take my cock."

"Oh, I can take it," he shoots back, and then he moans softly as Joseph moves from rubbing his ears to scratching his scalp. "Fuck, that feels good."

Mama slaps the flat of her hand _very_ gently against his thigh, barely even a tap. "I know you can, ya big brat, I've made you take it hard and fast enough times." 

Joseph makes a choking noise. Barclay grins into his folded arms, wondering if that's gonna be something Joseph gets himself off to at some point in the future. He sure hopes so.

Mama _finally_ slides a second finger into him, working them slow as she leans forward to murmur in his ear. "Sometimes I want to treat you nice, honey. Like you deserve."

Barclay feels a rumble of pleasure building in his chest, matching the slow burn of another climax that's starting to kindle in his abdomen. "You just jerked me off, I'd say you treat me plenty nice," he mumbles.

She hums, an utterly noncommittal noise. "Then maybe sometimes I wanna make sure ya got no choice but to take your time enjoyin' something."

Barclay doesn't have an answer to that, at least not one that doesn't sound far too defensive to give her when she's in the middle of fucking him, so he lets it ride and just . . . well, does as she says. Enjoys the slow strokes of her fingers, the scratchy tugging of Joseph playing with his hair and the fur on his shoulders.

He's so blissed out by the time she draws her fingers out, discards the glove and lines herself up that he almost doesn't notice. The fire in his belly is back to a low simmer, barely there compared to the hot lightning of Joseph's mouth or Mama's fingers, and the slow slide of her cock inside him is perfectly paced, gentle and steady. Barclay blows out a breath as he feels her bottom out, her hands gripping both of his hips. 

“Beautiful,” Joseph says, and Mama makes a noise of agreement and squeezes Barclay’s hips gently.

“He sure is.” She starts moving in him, leisurely movements that send sparks of pleasure skittering up through him, stirring up the embers from the last two orgasms and adding new fuel to the fire. 

Joseph’s fingers move through his hair, slow and soothing, another point of pleasure, and some vague part of Barclay’s brain registers that so far he’s been pretty negligent to the other two people in the room. He makes a muzzy noise and turns his head to one side. It’s not exactly a fair division of attention, right now, even if it feels good as hell. 

Marshaling his thoughts enough to say as much, well, that’s a different story. “Hey,” He manages, “C’mon, let me–” And that’s when Mama pulls nearly all the way out and his voice gives out on him.

Joseph’s fingers in his hair slow themselves, and his voice draws closer as he bends down over Barclay’s head. “You okay?”

Barclay tries to muster a response, but the words skitter off again as Mama cants her hips and drives into him deep. He lets out a noise that’s half sigh, half groan.

“I know what he wants.” Her voice is sweet as honeyed peaches as she leans forward, presses herself along the length of his back and nips at the point of his ear. “He wants to get his mouth on someone. That about right?” 

Barclay shudders all over. He can’t tell what’s hotter, the touch of her teeth or the feel of her inside him or the way she _knows him_ like that. 

“Yeah,” he manages, and she straightens up and rolls her hips, _moves_ in him like it’s a reward for finding his voice again. “Jesus, yeah, c’mon, let me– at least _one_ of you, I’m– ” 

Mama laughs at him — well, not _at him_ , but she laughs and runs her free hand down the thick-furred arc of his back. “Can’t help it even when it’s supposed to be you gettin’ taken care of, can you, sweetheart?” 

Barclay laughs shakily and pushes himself up on his elbows, tilting his face up to grin at Joseph. “I am what I am.” 

Joseph’s hair is mussed from Barclay messing with it earlier, and his eyes are crinkled at the edges as he leans down and kisses Barclay, cupping his face. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmurs.

Barclay grins and trails his eyes down to where Joseph’s boxers are doing a very bad job of disguising how much he’s enjoying this. “C’mon,” he says as he reaches out and hooks his fingers into the waistband of the garment. “Don’t– _ah_ – make me beg.” 

Mama _tuts_ teasingly. “Aw, but sweetheart,” she says, sliding an arm under his belly and guiding him up onto his knees without pulling out of him, “It’s hot as hell when you beg.”

Barclay snorts and then gasps as she starts moving again, hits a pace and angle that's _just right_ and sends an electric jolt of pleasure up his spine. “I thought the point was treating me nice.” 

“Oh, it is.” Joseph shifts backwards and shimmies out of his boxers, sheds his undershirt and then kneels down in front of Barclay, taking his face between his hands. “You get whatever you want today, babe. No begging necessary.”

Barclay responds by leaning forward and licking a long stripe along Joseph’s erection, relishing the soft heat of the skin beneath his tongue. Joseph drops his head back and moans as Barclay mouths him, leaning back on one hand and sinking the other into the ruff of longer fur across Barclay’s shoulders. “ _God_.”

Barclay grins and sucks in a deep breath as Mama’s pace picks up just slightly. The scent of Joseph’s body is heady this close up, lights up something deep inside Barclay’s chest. He’s not at quite the right angle to take Joseph very deep, but Barclay has a talented mouth and knows how to work with what he’s got. He runs his tongue over Joseph’s skin in long, slow strokes, lets the fur on his cheek graze the head of his cock and feels self-satisfied as Joseph lets out an audible gasp and tightens his fingers in Barclay’s fur. 

“You’re so good, Barclay,” Joseph says, canting his hips up into the touch of Barclay’s tongue. “God, you’re so fucking good. You have any idea how hot it is watching Madeline fuck you?”

“I wouldn’t mind hearin’ more about it, personally.” Mama says, rocking her hips. Joseph grins at her and threads his fingers into Barclay’s hair.

“He loves it,” he says, drawing his nails over Barclay’s scalp while Barclay lifts his head enough to swipe his tongue over the slit of Joseph’s cock. He lets out a long, pleased hiss. “He _needs_ it, you can see it in his face. Absolutely fucking beautiful.” 

“Lookin’ pretty good from this direction, too,” Mama says, still working in and out of Barclay, movements as steady and firm as the ones she uses when she’s carving, like he’s a work of art and she’s got him right where she wants him. God he’ll never, ever get tired of that, her inside him, the pressure of her hands on his hips, the way she treats him like he’s sturdy enough to take anything she gives him but also like he’s precious enough to deserve being treated carefully. “I could stand to watch him suck your dick more often, Joe.” 

Barclay can’t help the moan that draws out of him as he’s working his mouth against Joseph. Jesus, if the two of them keep dirty talking at one another he’s going to come again just from listening. 

It almost seems like Mama reads his mind. One of her hands slips lower and she catches Barclay’s dick between her fingers, strokes him in time with her movements, and it’s _just_ this side of too much, intense and perfect and searing. 

“Maybe we ought to make this a habit, honey, share you a little more often, huh? You like that idea?”

Barclay grunts and nods, tightens his fingers against Joseph’s thigh before he shifts his grip to the bedsheets instead, minding the claws. Joseph puts a hand over Barclay’s, like he’s holding him down.

“I know I do,” he says, bending over and sucking the tip of Barclay’s ear into his mouth. “Any excuse to watch you come, lover.” 

Barclay sucks in a huge breath as the words and the touch of Mama’s fingers pushes him over the edge. The orgasm hits him slower than the others, a rolling wave of pleasure that blossoms out from inside his abdomen and spreads until he’s panting and shaking, mouth gone slack against the skin at the base of Joseph’s cock, eyes squeezed shut as he rides the sensation. 

“That’s our boy,” Mama says, quiet and sweet, stroking his back and his thighs as she fucks him through it. The words kindle something warm and fierce and perfect in his gut and she must be able to tell because she says it again as she slides out of him, leaving him feeling oddly empty through the hazy afterglow of climax. “That’s our boy.”

Barclay sucks in a breath and opens his eyes, gazing fuzzily up at Joseph. “Sorry,” he manages sheepishly, “Got a little distracted.”

Joseph laughs and leans down and kisses him, nips at his bottom lip before he peppers Barclay’s whole face with kisses. “God, I love you.” 

“He’s somethin’, ain’t he?” Mama wraps an arm around Barclay’s chest and tugs gently. “C’mon, honey, let’s lay you down before you fall down.” 

Barclay makes a protesting noise as she flips him over on his back, although admittedly it is a little hard to keep himself on his hands and knees when he’s just been fucked until his legs are shaky. "C'mon, I was just getting started!"

Joseph shoots a grin at Mama, who matches it before she shucks off her harness and lets it drop, climbs up onto the bed and crawls forward until she can lean down and nibble his ear again. “Calm down, we ain’t gonna let you get bored.” 

“Promise?” Barclay’s still a little breathless from that orgasm, honestly, mellow and blissful. “Sure you’re not getting worn out?”

She takes his face in both hands and kisses him deep. “Keep that up, smartass,” she says against his lips, stroking her thumbs against the fur on his cheeks, “And I’ll have Joe break out the handcuffs and _show_ you worn out.”

“Promises, promises,” Joseph says lightly, stroking his hands along Barclay’s arms and down his chest before his shifts position and moves down to take Mama’s former spot. Joseph’s eyes roam over Barclay’s body, and he reaches down to take his own dick in his hand, stroking himself slowly. 

Barclay closes his eyes, rumbling in pleasure as Mama starts caressing his chest. It comes as a shock when fingers trace over his cock, and Barclay bucks and gasps at how _much_ it still is, eyes flying open again to find that Joseph’s bending low over him, smirking as he draws the fingers of his free hand away.

A moment later Joseph’s warm, wet mouth closes around him and Barclay sees fucking _sparks_ , white fireflies behind his eyelids. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he chokes, while Joseph’s tongue works against him. “Joseph, fuck, it’s– _Jesus–_ "

“Hmm?” Joseph pulls away, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Mama's been a bad influence on him, clearly. “Good?” 

Barclay drops his head back as Joseph’s fingers circle his dick, stroke it just once, move further down and slide across the wetness there. “A lot,” he says breathlessly.

Mama smiles and kisses his forehead, carding her fingers through his hair. “That’s the idea, sweetheart.” She traces her fingers along his bottom lip, chuckles when Barclay opens his mouth on pure instinct and takes them onto his tongue. 

Mama makes an approving noise. “Gonna take Joe’s cock this time, honey?” she asks, working the fingers in and out of his mouth, circling the point of one incisor with her fingertip. “Gonna let him make you come for us again?” 

Barclay makes a faint noise of assent as Joseph presses his fingers against his perineum and makes slow, steady circles. He’s still slick from before, still ready and willing, and he pushes himself into the touch. 

Mama grins and draws her fingers out of Barclay’s mouth, replaces them with her lips pressed to his and her tongue slipping into his mouth, tracing his teeth with the tip. 

Barclay pulls out of the kiss with a moan as Joseph presses the head of his dick against him, not pushing yet, just undeniably _there._ “Lemme take care of you,” he says, reaching up to card his fingers through the short, silvered brush of Mama's hair. “Please.” 

She snorts and turns her head to kiss the inside of his wrist. “You’re a goddamned fool if you think I didn’t get off on fuckin’ you once already, sweetheart,” she says, but she takes his hand and guides it downwards, which is permission enough for him. 

He draws the tips of his claws lightly over her skin, across one breast, not hard enough to hurt her but enough for her to _feel_ it, and he loves the way it makes her shiver and almost-flinch. They both know he’d never, ever hurt her but it’s the _idea_ of it, the fact that he can get that close . . .

Joseph’s watching the two of them with that rapt, hungry expression again, and he reaches out to grip Barclay’s hips and eases himself into him. “You’re gorgeous,” he says reverently, and Barclay’s not sure if he means Barclay or Mama or maybe both of them.

Mama gasps as he slips his fingers lower and brushes her clit, delicate as surgery, a touch he’s well practiced at by now. Joseph’s not moving, he’s just _inside him_ , and it’s so perfect, this moment, Barclay wishes he could wrap the sweetness of it in pastry and swallow it, let it warm him from the inside forever. 

No sooner has he had the thought than Mama locks eyes with him and slides a hand down his belly, fingers tugging at his fur, and her touch moves over his cock and she– 

“Holy fucking _Jesus–_ ” Barclay practically convulses as she slides three fingers into his other hole and it’s so much, it’s _so fucking much_ that whatever coherence Barclay had left in him is blown completely out of his brain and all that’s left is _feeling._ She holds him like that for a long moment, he’d close his eyes and throw his head back except that the magnetic brown beauty of her eyes won’t let him go. 

And then the moment snaps and they’re all three moving, suddenly, chasing the same rhythm, Joseph’s cock in Barclay’s ass and Barclay’s fingers against Mama’s cunt and her fingers moving inside him so he can feel the two of them practically touching with nothing but him between them and he’s going to fall down into this feeling and be lost forever. Barclay can’t think, can barely breathe, and he has just enough presence of mind to move his fingers against Mama’s slick wet heat until he feels her coming apart under his touch. 

He watches Joseph’s face, sees the focus there and the control, the drive that lights him up from inside like an electric current, and Mama’s looking between the both of them like she’s found something _perfect_ and the worry lines around her eyes are _gone_ when it’s like this, here, now, fucking him and coming for him all at once. 

Barclay can’t look away but he also can’t help his eyes dropping closed, there’s just too much of everything and it’s all flowing into and out of him like energy arcing through a shard of crystal, crackling and refracting and multiplying. One of them makes a sound, or maybe both of them do, and her fingers crook and bend and press _deep_ at the same time Joseph thrusts against him and Barclay just shatters, shakes apart, becomes a million fragments of pure light that fly away like campfire sparks. There’s a roaring in his ears that is probably his own voice turned loose. 

He misses the exact moment when Joseph comes, too high on the pure adrenaline of the moment. He comes back to himself as Joseph’s pulling out, shaky and sated with a look of pure adoration on his face. Mama’s leaning back on one hand, and she draws the fingers of the other out of Barclay and licks them off slowly, eyes locked on Barclay’s with a smug, heated smile. 

“God.” Joseph runs his hands down Barclay’s thighs and then stretches himself out on the mattress next to him, slinging an arm across Barclay’s heaving chest and resting his head in the hollow of his shoulder. “I mean, just– _God._ ” 

Barclay laughs and wraps an arm around Joseph’s shoulders, nuzzling into his hair. “You said it.” 

Joseph is warm against his side, the weight of his arm perfect, and Barclay feels practically boneless he’s so fucked-out and comfortable. The litany of lists from earlier is shoved so far back in the corner of his mind that he couldn’t summon it even if he wanted to try. 

Mama looks the two of them over with a satisfied little nod, leans down to kiss Barclay slow and sweet. “Bet that feels better.” 

“Mmmph.” Barclay agrees, stroking his hand down her bent back. “You’re pretty smart.” 

“You’re pretty goddamned right,” she agrees cheerily, kissing him again before she stretches her arms above her head and gets up. 

Barclay frowns. Joseph is firmly ensconced at his side, and Barclay’s not inclined to rouse him just yet. “Not staying?” 

“Just gonna check on a thing or two,” Mama says, pulling on her jeans and retrieving her shirt from the top of Barclay’s desk. “Gimme a rain check on my Bigfoot cuddles?” 

“‘Course.” For a second Barclay thinks about pressing the issue, but a second is all it takes for Mama to yank her shirt on and be out the door, so he lets it go. 

Joseph makes a mumbly, contented noise and consolidates his position, running his fingers idly through the fur on Barclay’s chest. “You’re comfortable.” 

“I get that a lot.” Barclay should probably get up. He will any second now. He’s just . . . gonna recover for a little bit first, and enjoy the sensation of his boyfriend petting him. 

Yeah.

They lay there like that for a long while before Joseph says quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Mmm?” Barclay’s been zoning out, drifting and dozy.

Joseph shifts his head a little bit without lifting it from Barclay’s shoulder. “About whatever it is that’s been on your mind the last few days.” 

“Oh.” It’s the most noncommittal answer he can give. He reaches up and threads his claws gently through Joseph’s hair instead of elaborating. 

Which maybe would work, if Joseph Stern didn’t have _chasing down answers about Bigfoot_ ingrained in his goddamned DNA. “You’re not usually like this,” he continues, still stroking Barclay’s chest in slow, soothing motions. “Busy, yes. But keeping yourself so busy you forget to take care of your own needs? That’s usually Madeline’s department, not yours.” 

Barclay huffs out a faint laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He falls silent for a second, contemplating, and then says, “It’s kind of stupid.” 

“I sincerely doubt that,” Joseph answers, turning his head to kiss Barclay’s shoulder, “But even if it is, I’d still like to hear it.” 

“Stop being so perfect, would you?” Barclay sighs and lets his fingers fall still, just holding Joseph’s head cradled against him. 

“I can’t, I’m afraid. It’s incurable.” Joseph sounds smug. Mama really is rubbing off on him. 

“Okay. Fine.” Barclay lets his gaze wander around the room as he’s talking. “How much do you know about Sylvan holidays?” 

“Only what you and Jake have told me,” Joseph says. 

Barclay nods. “They make more sense than yours. Yours are all over the calendar. Ours are easy to track because they’re all tied to the planet. How it moves. Where it is in orbit, where the moon is, how Sylvain’s energy ebbs and flows.” 

“I’m going to leave my defense of human holidays for a different time,” Joseph says. “Tomorrow is . . . the summer solstice, isn’t it? Something like that?”

“It’s a lunar festival, not a solar one, but close enough.”

“Then why is it– you know what, never mind.” Joseph raises his head slightly, searching Barclay’s face, before he says quietly, “Is it that Aubrey and Dani didn’t come across for it?” 

“Not . . . sort of, I guess.” Barclay shakes his head and pulls his eyes away from the familiar pattern of knots and grain in the pine board above his doorway. “I mean, I wasn’t surprised. It’s an important festival, Aubrey should be there for it and Dani should be with Aubrey. But . . .”

He falls quiet for a long moment, trying to put it all into words. He hasn’t really been willing to just sit down and unpick his feelings on his own time — not when it’s easier to keep his hands and his brain busy instead. 

“I guess a part of me still expected them to step through when Thacker did,” he says finally. “And when they didn’t . . . well. I guess I started thinking about everyone else that a part of me still expects to be here.” 

“Ah.” Joseph slides his hand upward, runs his thumb over the ruff of long fur that frames Barclay’s face. “Ned?”

“Yeah.” Barclay blinks rapidly, surprised by how quickly the pricking sensation of tears has risen up out of nowhere. “Ned. And everyone else, too. Mike and Amelia and Vicky and . . . there were a lot of people you never got the chance to meet.” 

Joseph nods solemnly. He’s been patient about the fact that there’s a lot of history here that just . . . hasn’t been his to hear about yet. Barclay’s grateful for that. 

Barclay sighs, staring at the ceiling now. “Like I said, it’s kind of stupid. But I guess . . . I guess it just hit me again that none of them get this, you know. This happy ending, or whatever you want to call it.” He runs his free hand over his face, feeling awkward at how maudlin he is all of a sudden. “A lot of them went through a hell of a lot more than I did to keep this place safe and the gate protected. Most of them _died_ doing that. But here I am, right?” 

Joseph pushes himself up on his elbow, staring into Barclay’s face with a grave, tender expression. “Please don’t tell me you think you somehow don’t deserve this,” he says quietly. 

Barclay laughs humorlessly and shakes his head. “No. That’s not it.” Maybe the Barclay from twenty, thirty years ago, he doesn’t say. Maybe even the Barclay from ten years ago. But he’s done a lot of work on himself since then. “I just . . . you know. I guess I just want to make sure that what they were working for is the best it can possibly be. If that makes any sense.” 

Joseph’s expression softens, and he wraps his arms around Barclay and _squeezes_. “Of course it makes sense,” he says, pressing his face into Barclay’s neck and kissing the spot where neck meets shoulder, “And you do. You are. It’s the best because _you’re_ here.” 

Barclay grins and squeezes him back. “Flatterer.” 

“Seriously.” Joseph pulls back enough to cup Barclay’s cheek. “Don’t run yourself ragged trying to make it perfect, please? You know they wouldn’t want that.” 

Which . . . is true. Of course it is. “I know.” And he does. It’s just . . . sometimes hearing someone else say it helps. Hearing Joseph say it helps. “I’ll do my best.” 

“You always do your best,” Joseph says warmly, pressing his forehead against Barclay’s. “That’s what makes you so amazing.”

Barclay laughs at that — a genuine laugh this time. “God, okay, I get it, I’m incredible.” 

“Yes, you are.” Joseph kisses him and then sits up. “Did you eat lunch?” 

“Uh.” Barclay wrinkles his nose and mumbles something that is neither a confirmation nor a denial, and Joseph laughs and shakes his head.

“Come on, love, up you get.” He rolls to his feet and reaches for his discarded clothing. “You burned a lot of energy this afternoon.” 

Barclay grins at him with an exaggerated pout. “You don’t want to bring me a tray in bed? I thought I was supposed to be _relaxing_.” 

Joseph laughs and tosses him his shirt and his bracelet. “You can relax with pants on.” 

They get dressed and Joseph does his best to put his hair back to rights, although it’s still subtly less immaculate than usual. Barclay pulls his back up into its customary bun, and laces his fingers through Joseph’s as they make their way through the corridors towards the kitchen. He feels _good_. Rested. The lists are back to nudging at his mind, but he feels a lot more capable of tackling them now without it all being an ordeal.

As they get closer Barclay realizes he can hear voices and the sound of utensils rattling, and he frowns. It sounds like a lot more than just Jake rummaging in the fridge for a soda . . .

Joseph pushes the door open. Barclay steps into the room and then stops abruptly, looking around. 

Jake is indeed in the kitchen, but he’s not prowling for snacks, he’s sitting at the kitchen table with Thacker, peeling potatoes. 

Mama is standing at the center island with her sleeves rolled up, dicing potatoes with brisk, practiced motions and talking over her shoulder as she does. “Once you get that done you two get out in the garden and get us some greens.” 

It’s addressed not to Thacker and Jake but to Hollis and Keith, who are posted up at the long counter behind her. They’ve got their sleeves pushed up, and they’re both covered in a fine layer of flour. More flour is heaped on the counter and the two of them are busily (and clumsily) kneading bread dough.

“Yes ma’am.” Hollis frowns down at the lump of dough under their hands. “How’ll we know it’s done?”

“Just do like I showed you and punch your thumb in there, see how long it takes to bounce back,” she replies, grabbing another potato. “I’ll check it if you ain’t sure.” 

Barclay’s not quite sure what to do with the scene in front of him, and he settles for clearing his throat loudly. Keith, Hollis and Jake all momentarily freeze on pure instinct; Mama barely looks up from what she’s doing. 

“Hey there, you two. Barclay, you wanna give Thacker a different job? He’s makin’ a dog’s breakfast out of those potato peels.”

“I know how to peel a potato, _Maddie_ ,” Thacker shoots back without venom.

“Then act like it, you old hack.” Mama glances at Barclay with a twinkle in her eye. Joseph’s got a matching one, Barclay realizes. 

“This was part of your plan?” he says, a little stupidly. Of course it was. 

“Well,” Joseph says sensibly, “It’s a fairly obvious solution to someone having too much to do getting ready for a family dinner.” 

Something in Barclay’s chest that he didn’t even realize was still wound tight suddenly loosens itself, unfurling into a warm, safe, blissful feeling that radiates out into his whole body. His eyes are pricking again, and he compensates for that by reaching out and yanking Joseph into a tight hug, burying his face in his hair. 

“Thank Madeline, she’s the mastermind,” Joseph says warmly, squeezing Barclay back.

Barclay grins and lets him go so he can cross the kitchen and wrap his arms carefully around Mama, heeding the blade in her hands. “You . . . thank you,” he mumbles, dropping his forehead down to her shoulder.

Mama sets the knife down and wipes her hands before she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. “Joe get you sorted out?” she asks quietly. 

Barclay takes a deep breath, relishes the smell of Mama’s shirt and the warmth of her fingers. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Good.” She leans back into him. “You treat our favorite person _nicely_ , now, got it?” 

Barclay grins into her shoulder. “I dunno,” he murmurs, so quiet it’s for her ears only, “It turns out the consequences if I don’t are pretty good for me.” 

Mama barks out a laugh and pulls her fingers free of his hair to slap his hip. “Brat.” 

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” He kisses her cheek and then lets her go, rolling up his own sleeves and looking around. The Hornets are watching him with a faint air of trepidation; Jake and Thacker are grinning like goons. 

“Joseph, love, will you get the melon out of the fridge and start slicing it?” He crosses to the sink and washes up with brisk, practiced movements, then turns back to Keith and Hollis. 

“Okay, you two, move over. Let me show you how to make this easier on yourselves.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Rhinocio for being an incredible Beta, and to the Ducknerva discord for being a hotbed of constant encouragement and inspiration (also the kind of rad place where you can hang out and talk about multishipping that doesn't involve either of the two halves of the ship the Discord is named after).
> 
> I have a tumblr at punkahudsonia, and I post gen fic under Punka_Writes. Come say hi!


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